He peeks into the drawing room and finds it empty. He slips inside and quietly shuts the door behind him, being careful not to catch his tail. His ears twitch and perk as he walks further into the room.
A nearly finished painting rests on an easel that sits in front of a grand window overlooking the rolling hills of the countryside.

He mindlessly fondles with his tail as he walks up to the easel, running a hand along a loveseat’s upholstery as he passes. He stands a few feet away from the painting, too afraid to get closer, but just close enough to see the intricate details. He admires his Owner’s work, the precise brush , the vast amount of hues, the beauty of the scene captured in acrylic.

He can’t help but think that his Owner is amazing, an artistic genius, as if he couldn’t get any more perfect than he already is.

His eyes wander to a small table of paint cans next to the easel.

He’s seen his Owner work with the materials before but he’s never gotten the chance to see them up close. He reaches out towards the silver cans and freezes halfway. He clenches his hand into a fist but makes no move to withdraw it back to his side. He knows he shouldn’t, not without permission. If he does, he’d basically be breaking his Owner’s trust that he’s so painstakingly built and the bond between a Pet and an Owner that goes along with it. But his curiosity gets the best of him and he grabs one of the cans.

He glances over his shoulder at the shut door before carefully twisting off the cap and peering inside. His eyes widen with wonder and awe when he sees the pale blue liquid inside.

It reminds him of the open sky that hung over his head as he rolled around in manor’s front lawn with his Owner watching him from the porch, or the rushing creek that his Owner took him to behind the estate, or the orchid that his Owner picked for him on his first day in his new home.

He tilts the can around in shallow circles, watching the paint creep to the lip then sink back down to the bottom. It’s smooth and fluid like silk and he wonders if it feels the same way too. He reaches a finger into the can and just as he’s about to make contact -

“Myungsoo, what are you doing in here?”

Myungsoo whirls around and finds Sungyeol standing in the doorway, doorknob still clutched in the Owner’s hand.
He loses his grip and the can slips out of his hand, his tail sweeping out behind him and knocking the table of paints and easel to the floor with a crash. Cans break open and paint spreads along the floor, into the wooden panels and carpet rugs, the canvas laying face down on the ground.

Myungsoo bites down on his lip as Sungyeol storms over and pushes him out of the way. He clasps his tail to his side as he watches Sungyeol bend down to pick up the fallen canvas.

A myriad of emotions flash across Sungyeol’s face when he turns the canvas over and finds his painting covered in splotches of various colors, absolutely ruined.

Myungsoo stares in horror, guilt pressing down on his chest. He just ruined one of his Owner’s priceless possessions. Again.

He’s seen Sungyeol frustrated before, exasperated even. But he somehow has always managed to keep his temper in check when it came to Myungsoo’s … clumsiness.

But, right now, his Owner’s face is cloaked in pure anger and rage, anger and rage directed at him, and he’s terrified.

“Look what you’ve done,” Sungyeol glares up at his Pet.

“I - I’m sorry,” Myungsoo stammers, clutching his tail to his chest.

“Sorry? Sorry?” Sungyeol throws the ruined canvas down onto the hardwood floor, “Sorry isn’t going to repaint that painting that took me nearly two months to do. Sorry isn’t going to clean this mess up. Or any of the other messes you made for that matter. They’re still replacing the furniture in the guest room, you know?”

Myungsoo flinches when Sungyeol kicks the canvas into the fallen easel.

“I - “

“First the drapes, then the flowerbed, the chessboard, the china cabinet, the four bookshelves, and now this,” Sungyeol mutters.

Myungsoo opens his mouth to apologize, to beg for forgiveness, to tell him that he knows he’s a bad Pet just like his previous Owners have all labeled him to be, but Sungyeol plows on.

“Why did I agree to Woohyun’s stupid idea to adopt a stupid Pet from the Kim pound? Just because his Shelter Pet worked out for him doesn’t mean that one would work for me. I should have just gotten a trained one from a breeder instead.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Sungyeol clamps down on the inside of his cheek and closes his eyes when he realizes the words that left his mouth. He can’t believe he just said that. And to Myungsoo, who had such a horrible track record of being adopted by abusive owners, who he knows has nightmare almost every night about being beaten and battered before being sent back to the shelter again and again, who just gives and gives his love but has never received any in return.

He risks a look at the Pet and instantly regrets it when he feels his heart sink into his stomach.

Myungsoo is gripping his tail so hard it probably hurts, eyes rimmed pink and shining, looking in Sungyeol’s direction but not seeing anything. He’s trembling slightly and Sungyeol wants nothing more than to pull him into his arms and whisper a thousand apologies and sweet nothings into his ear.

When Sungyeol takes a step towards him, Myungsoo shrinks into himself and rushes out an “I’m so sorry,” before bolting out the door.
 

Sungyeol lies in his bed, staring up blankly at the ceiling. He doesn’t need to look at the clock to know that it’s well past midnight. He tosses and turns before abruptly sitting up. He stares at the empty space at the foot of his bed that he’s gotten so accustomed to being occupied by a certain Pet, just a little right of the center. The bed he once thought was the perfect size for him now seems exponentially too large.

He kicks his blankets to the side and climbs out of bed. He pulls on a robe as he walks down the hallway, checking all of Myungsoo’s favorite spots with feign nonchalance. The window seat at the end of the hallway, the corner armchair in the library, in front of the fireplace in his office, all empty.

As he checks the cupboard under the sink in the bathroom, there’s a soft knock on the door.

Sungyeol whirls around and finds one of his maids, an older woman with soft, knowing eyes, standing in the doorway. An oil lamp hangs from her frail fingers.

“Looking for someone, my lord?” she asks.

“No,” Sungyeol lies unconvincingly, quickly getting to his feet and leaning against the sink counter, “I was just …”

The maid shakes her head, “Follow me.”

She leads him downstairs and into the kitchen. Moonlight shines through the glass double doors that lead to the porch and backyard garden.

She silently points at the white porch swing where Myungsoo lays.

He’s curled into a tight ball, knees drawn to his chest, hands tucked under his head, eyes shut with his tail wrapped protectively around himself. He’s still in the same clothes from earlier that day, a red cotton robe that is much too thin to keep out the night breeze from colliding with his skin.

“I tried to get him to come inside, but he refused,” the maid sighs, “He didn’t even let me give him a blanket. The poor thing must be so cold. I wonder why he’s acting like this.”

Sungyeol bites down on his lip as he walks out onto the porch. The air pricks at his skin and he draws his robe tighter around his body. He walks up to the porch swing, holding his breath to be as silent as possible. Myungsoo shivers slightly in his sleep, ears flat against his head, eyebrows knitted together, and jaw clenched.

Sungyeol carefully sits down on the bench next to him and gently shakes the sleeping Pet’s shoulder.

Myungsoo groggily arouses from his slumber and glances around in confusion. He looks up and red, puffy eyes lock with Sungyeol’s. He immediately gets up and sits on the floor, just as any good Pet would.

Sungyeol frowns. There are certain customs that Sungyeol has asked Myungsoo to uphold as a Pet, sleeping at the end of the bed for example. But never once has he had the Pet sit at his feet as if he’s a slave kneeling to his master.

And his frown deepens when he spots Myungsoo’s black leather collar resting on the bench next to him. 

“Why are you sleeping out here?” Sungyeol asks as he stares out into the dark night, the trees, the dew frosted lawn, and pretty much anywhere other than his Pet.

Myungsoo bows his head towards the wooden floorboards, “I would leave but I have nowhere else to go.”

Sungyeol feels like he’s suffocating. Guilt fills his lungs, squeezes his heart, contracts his chest.

“I can’t do anything right, can I?” Myungsoo continues, “The drapes, your silk shirts and sheets, always knocking things over and making messes. I’m a horrible Pet.”

“No you’re not,” Sungyeol croaks.

“Yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not,” Sungyeol argues back, pleading for the Pet to believe him.

“Yes, I am!” Myungsoo screams, staring up at his Owner with tears streaming down his face, “If I wasn’t a horrible Pet, then why did all of my Owners dump me at the pound? If I wasn’t a horrible Pet, why do you regret adopting me?”

Sungyeol watches, pain painted across his face, as Myungsoo curls into a ball. When shudders start to wrack his body, Sungyeol falls to his knees and gathers up the sobbing Pet into his arms.

“It wasn’t your fault. It was just an accident,” he buries his face into Myungsoo’s hair, between his cat ears, “I’m sorry for yelling at you, I’m so sorry.”

He continues to shush Myungsoo, rubbing soothing circles on his back and playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. Myungsoo fists the front of his rob, clutching onto Sungyeol for dear life but trying to pull away at the same time.

When the tears subside and his breathing evens, Myungsoo leans against Sungyeol’s neck, his head perfectly fitting into the curve of the latter’s neck. He’s moments away from sleep, eyes closed and exhausted.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” Sungyeol whispers, “I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” Myungsoo mumbles as he nuzzle closer to Sungyeol’s warmth, “You were angry, I understand.”

“But last time I promised - ”

Myungsoo lifts his head. His eyes are red and swollen and the tip of his nose is a rosy pink. To put it simply, he looks like a mess, almost ugly even (if that’s even possible).

“It’s okay,” he says softly and earnestly.

That’s one of the things that Sungyeol admires most about Myungsoo: his ability to forgive. Most Pets just serve their Owners, act as companions or play things or really whatever an Owner wants his Pet to be. But Myungsoo does more. In the past month, he’s taught Sungyeol more than his private tutors and advisors have taught him in the past 20 years.

Tolerance, compassion, love.

Sungyeol takes the collar sitting on the swing and clips it back around Myungsoo’s neck. Myungsoo smiles shyly and Sungyeol swears his heart just melted.

He reaches up and scratches Myungsoo behind his ear. The Pet purrs lowly and leans into his palm with a content sigh.

Sungyeol smiles. 
















A/N: Thanks to my qurl Mikela for catching all the mistakes managed to slip by me. It feel good to write again.